


Scream For Me

by HonestCannibal



Series: Dirty Needs [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Eventual Johnlock but only in the last two chapters, I am sorry Sheriarty shippers who read this, Knife Play, M/M, Rough Sex, Scratching, Screaming, Slight Possession, Spanking, The Reichenbach Fall, This story turned out differently to how I wanted it to, Urges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HonestCannibal/pseuds/HonestCannibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>EDITED: "I owe you Sherlock." Moriarty smirked wider, "I. Owe. You." - Sherlock and Moriarty are loving each other's hate. Porn with a small plot, edited because I decided to write more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Owe You

Moriarty eyed Sherlock with an interested expression. His mouth curled up into a smirk as his eyes travelled up to Sherlock's face where he met his eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes which just  _pierced_  into his skin and gave him chills.

"I owe you, Sherlock." Moriarty smirked wider, "I. Owe. You."

Sherlock didn't reply, but Moriarty didn't miss the way his body tensed. Jim watched him narrow his eyes and clench his fists.

"It breaks my heart when you don't speak to me, it really does." Moriarty grinned and crossed the distance between both of them. He placed a hand gently over Sherlock's cheek, "don't you love me, pet?"

"Don't touch me." Sherlock hissed, smacking his hand away. Moriarty chuckled,

"My, my, you need to work on your manners."

Sherlock glared down at him but didn't move away when Moriarty leaned up to plant a delicate kiss on his cheek, "I'll take my leave." He whispered before heading for the door.

Suddenly he was stopped by a hand around his bicep. He turned to see Sherlock still glaring at him, but before Jim could say another word those precious lips we on his, kissing him harshly. Jim was taken aback by the sudden motion but didn't pull away; instead he pushed back into the kiss just as viciously.

There was pure animalistic want as Moriarty took control, pushing the detective roughly against door and nipping his lips. Hisses of pain could be heard as nails scraped against skin, lifting material and drawing blood. Moriarty groaned into the kiss and ripped open Sherlock's shirt, his hands exploring every inch of Sherlock's smooth, pale chest.

The taller man growled and slid his hands up the back of Jim's blazer and shirt, running his warm hands over Moriarty's spine. Jim smirked and pulled away from the kiss, looking at Sherlock's bloodied and swollen lips aroused him erratically, but Jim was a patient man, he could play with his pet a little bit before the sex. "I love seeing you like this; desperate, fierce,  _wanting_." He sucked a bite onto Sherlock's neck and chuckled at the quiet moan the detective gave.

"Shut up and fuck me." Sherlock breathed.

Moriarty moaned at those words, oh how  _perfect_ they sounded in the deep, velvet voice, heavy with arousal.

"Gladly," The criminal mastermind pulled Sherlock away from the door and threw him down onto the sofa, climbing on top of him quickly and pinning him down. He lifted Sherlock's hands above his head and held them there; he enjoyed his prey being helpless and needy before him.

Moriarty examined the man before him and almost drooled at the scene; a hot and flustered Sherlock at his mercy, how enticing. The criminal purred and scratched his nails down Sherlock's already sore chest, grinning at the groan that left the other's man mouth.

Jim's hand wondered down towards the button on Sherlock's trousers and circled it a few times, admiring the design.  _Oh what a shame it would be if I were to ruin them._ He thought before ripping the button off and practically tearing the trousers off Sherlock's legs.

Crawling in between the detectives legs, Moriarty palmed the other's erection through his boxers and swallowed the moan from his mouth with another harsh kiss, slipping his tongue through Sherlock's lips. He could feel the detective struggling to free his wrists from Moriarty's grip;  _no, no, daddy doesn't play that way._

Moriarty worked at his own trousers and released his erection from beneath his boxers, stroking himself a few times while ghosting his lips over Sherlock's; in that moment, he could smell the lust between them. This was nothing but pure sex – pure  _want_. Moriarty liked it.

The criminal pulled down Sherlock's boxers and smirked at his erection, "I'm impressed," He chuckled seductively, running a thumb over the tip. "If you weren't so demanding, I'd insist for  _you_ to be inside of  _me._ "

Sherlock moaned again and Moriarty couldn't help himself when he caught the detective in another rough kiss, freeing his wrists and sliding his pre-cum slicked fingers down from Sherlock's cock to his arsehole, teasing it slightly. The detective gripped Moriarty's shoulders, hissing with excitement.

Tentatively Jim slipped one finger inside of him and Sherlock gasped, digging his nails deeper into Moriarty's shoulder blades, the criminal stroked his cock, hoping to relax him so he could slip another finger in. He was a patient man and Sherlock was his prize, he didn't want to scare him off.

Sherlock was becoming restless so Moriarty slipped in another finger, curling them inside of the detective, scissoring him until he loose enough for Moriarty to fuck that beautiful arse until he screamed for more.

"I didn't h-have you down as a...as a tease." Sherlock breathed as Moriarty finger-fucked him.

"Daddy's full of surprises, pet." He smirked in reply and removed his fingers to stroke and slick himself.

The criminal lifted Sherlock's legs over his shoulders, leaned in close and took hold of Sherlock's bottom lip with his teeth while he pushed himself slowly inside of Sherlock, trying his hardest not to ram all the way in from hearing the gasp leaving Sherlock's mouth. Everything about this man was  _arousing_ , Jim was happy he could finally  _posses_ him like this; see him so open.

When Moriarty was all the way in, he touched foreheads with Sherlock, "I want you to  _scream_ for me."

"You're going to have to try very hard for that." Sherlock hissed and lifted Moriarty's shirt as he slipped his hands around the other man.

Jim gave a breathless laugh and pulled himself fully out, suddenly slamming back in and savouring the loud moan that escaped the detective's mouth, "No I don't." He chuckled and began to thrust teasingly slow, knowing exactly when he hit Sherlock's prostate.

During his slow thrusts, the criminal murmured teasing words to the detective, telling him how tight he was, how much he wanted to bite every part of his body, how badly he wanted to just make him scream for more. He slowly scraped his nails down Sherlock's thighs and gripped them tight enough to cause bruising.

_Marking you as mine; you are mine._

"You want me to go harder, you're going to have to ask, pet." Moriarty smirked, running his fingers over Sherlock's cock slowly.

"Fuck," Sherlock grunted, Moriarty gasped dramatically,

"Such a dirty mouth," He picked up the speed of his thrusts, "come on, beg for more."

"God-" Sherlock breathed, "please...fuck, please, harder."

"I didn't hear that." Jim leaned in and nibbled along Sherlock's jaw line.

"Fuck me harder!" Sherlock moaned out loudly as Moriarty thrust hard against his prostate. The criminal said nothing but smiled, his thrusts turned, becoming deep and rough. Moriarty sucked on the raw, bleeding marks on Sherlock's neck and captured his wrists is his hand again, pushing them forcefully above the other man's head.

_You are mine._

_Mine._

Sherlock was hissing and moaning, Jim could have classed it as screaming but he knew he could get more out of the detective, and he wanted to do it fast because he could feel an orgasm creeping up on him. He started stroking Sherlock's erection with his free hand and felt the moans rumbling the other's man throat as he kissed it up to Sherlock's ear, nibbling on the lobe and breathing down right dirty things into his ear.

Sherlock began to tense and Jim knew the detective was close; he started thrusting faster and more desperately, stroking Sherlock in time with his thrusts. Moriarty whispered into Sherlock's ear again, "come on,  _scream for me_."

And Sherlock did. Moriarty thrust in deep and Sherlock came, screaming 'Moriarty' as he did so. Jim smiled and pulled out, stroking himself a few more times until he came over Sherlock's stomach, his semen mixing with the detectives.

It took them both a moment to catch their breath. Moriarty continued to look down at Sherlock laying spread out before him, relaxed and looking so beautiful after sex.

"This changes nothing." Sherlock said suddenly. Jim smirked and leaned down to kiss Sherlock deeply on the mouth,

"Of course not," He murmured against Sherlock's lips, "but you're  _mine_."

"I'm yours." Sherlock breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, this is the first time in a while since I've written smut and it's my first time writing Sherlock smut. For me, Sherlock is asexual, but hey-ho, I don't like to label! Sorry if it's OOC, it's literally just a quick 'I'm feeling sexually frustrated so I'm going to write porn' moment.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	2. Switchblade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have just called this story: All Of My Fetishes In Under 4,000 Words.

Sherlock tried his best to hide the marks on his neck, but there was only so many times you could wear a scarf indoors because you 'forgot to take it off' before it becomes suspicious. He'd observed the marks in the mirror; his neck was just riddled with teeth marks, bruises, hickeys and deep punctures where Moriarty had  _wanted_ to make him bleed.

He hissed in pain as he ran a finger over a deep puncture, estimating that each mark would take twelve to eighteen days to fully disappear, which means either he explained what happened to John or he wore a scarf inside for eighteen days.

It wasn't  _just_ the marks on his neck that gave him pain, there were deep scratches covering his chest and thighs. It hurt to bend down or even put a shirt on over the sore skin. He didn't exactly feel regret for his sexual advance towards Moriarty, he knew it was all part of the game and he certainly didn't want to be on the losing side. He didn't enjoy the sex.

Did he?

Well it was pleasurable, of course, because sex  _is_ pleasurable when consented. That doesn't mean he  _enjoyed_ it. Or maybe, just perhaps, he did. He had agreed that Moriarty now owned him, almost like a pet – he  _was_ Moriarty's pet; he just needed to understand if he regretted that decision.

"Sherlock, you've been in there a long time." John's voice was muffled by the door, "is everything all right?"

"Fine – everything's fine." Sherlock replied,

"Ok, well, I'm going out to do some shopping, anything specific you want?"

Sherlock was about to dismiss him but then a thought came to mind, "cosmetic foundation."

John paused, "what?"

"That...that paste some women cover their face with."

"Yes, yes, I do know what it is, I meant  _why_."

"It's for an experiment."

"I'll say no more." John sighed and was gone.

Sherlock went back to inspecting the marks before leaving the bathroom warily in case John had come back without him knowing. He looked down at his pyjamas and sighed, was there really any point in getting dressed today? He wasn't going anywhere, well, not that he knew of. Perhaps when John comes back, he would remind Sherlock that he needed to be somewhere today.

_Dull._

Sherlock flopped down on the couch and memories flooded his mind from yesterday, the way Moriarty's hands felt over him, how good his nails felt against his skin; his lips hovering over his own, murmuring dirty things.

That man got to Sherlock, caused him so much frustration. Sherlock sat up again and looked over at the clock, when was John going to get back? He was bored already and the man had only been gone for ten minutes.

Sherlock stood again and walked over to the window, looking down at the common public who passed with interest. The door to the flat opened and Sherlock frowned, "that was quick." He commented turning around. He paused, not seeing John but seeing Moriarty standing in the doorway.

"Not who you expected? I'm hurt." Moriarty put a hand over his chest and smirked,

"How did you get in here?" Sherlock asked suddenly aware he was only in a pair of pyjamas and his dressing gown.

"Lock picking is one of my specialities, didn't you know?" Moriarty began walking towards Sherlock, "Among other things, of course." He chuckled.

Sherlock straightened his posture as his nemesis came closer to him. When Moriarty was close enough, his hand reached for Sherlock's neck and his fingers danced over the marks, his smirk growing wider, "these have come out rather nicely, wouldn't you agree?"

"It's rather difficult to cover them." Sherlock muttered looking back out of the window.

"Good." Moriarty purred and grasped the back of Sherlock's neck, pulling him down for a rough kiss. Sherlock returned with just as much force as Moriarty but suddenly pulled back,

"Not here, John will be back soon."

"I want him to see that you're mine, Sherlock." Moriarty had a warning tone to his voice as he slipped his hands around Sherlock to grope his arse.

"I don't."

"But you want me to fuck you, don't you?"

Sherlock was silent and Moriarty smirked, pulling Sherlock into another kiss. Moriarty's hands pushed Sherlock's silk dressing gown off his body and Sherlock began to push Moriarty back, moving their heated bodies into the kitchen through to his bedroom, stripping articles of clothing off and throwing them in random places throughout the flat until they were both only in trousers.

Once they reached the bedroom, Moriarty slammed Sherlock's body up against the door and enjoyed the gasp of pain from the taller man; he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth. He wanted to explore every part of Sherlock with his tongue; oh he wanted to do such naughty things with him.

Moriarty groaned when Sherlock grinded their hips together. Taking hold of Sherlock's arms, Jim traced a tongue down Sherlock's neck, circling a few of the raw teeth marks and then pushing him down onto the bed. He climbed on top of him and gave a sinister smile, "I thought we could try something new." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade.

Sherlock's eyes went wide and he shook his head, "no, absolutely not."

"Come on, pet." Moriarty whispered against Sherlock's ear, opening the blade and rubbing the blunt end against the skin on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock's breath hitched and Moriarty smiled against his lips, turning the blade over and letting it cut a thin line down from Sherlock's rib to his hip, smearing the blood with his thumb as he traced the wound.

Sherlock moaned in pleasure and pain as the blade cut into him again, this time deeper and Moriarty chuckled, again running a thumb over the bleeding wound. They kissed fiercely as three more gashes were added to Sherlock's pale chest, moaning and hissing between them as they grinded against each other.

Suddenly they heard the front door open and Sherlock sat up on his elbows, lust obvious in his eyes, "John's back." He said, breathless.

"Then we'll have to be quiet if we don't want to get caught." Moriarty chuckled and slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of Sherlock's pyjama trousers. Sherlock went to speak but Moriarty silence him with another kiss, nipping at his lips playfully.

"Sherlock, I got your...stuff." John called from outside the door. Sherlock pulled Moriarty's head up by his hair, the man gave him a smirk.

"Just-" Sherlock batted Moriarty's hand away from the front of his pyjama trousers, "just leave it in the kitchen I'll get it la-ter!" Sherlock's pitch went high when Moriarty began nibbling on the skin on his neck.

"Uh...Sure," John said, "is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine." Sherlock called back, biting back a moan when that cold metal pierced his skin again.

"Ok..." John sounded unsure but Sherlock just wished he would leave. Thankfully, he heard the footsteps disappearing, but suddenly he felt a warm heat around his cock, when he looked down, he saw Moriarty's bloodied lips sucking on him. Sherlock's head fell back against the pillows as he moaned quietly.

Moriarty began to hum as he sucked and Sherlock bit his hand to stop himself from crying out, that warm, moist heat around him felt divine and perfect. Then it was gone and Moriarty was smiling devilishly at him, "I want you on your front."

Sherlock's eyes were full of want as he turned over and Jim grasped him harshly by the hips, grinding himself against Sherlock's rear. "Oh you're so fucking beautiful, Sherly." Moriarty groaned stroking his fingers down Sherlock's back gently, the detective let out a desperate growl when Jim smacked his arse cheeks, leaving a fierce red hand print on the smooth, pale skin.

Jim smirked as he looked down at his hand print, releasing his erection from his trousers. He palmed himself and sighed gently, breathing in the smell of sex, how  _perfect_ it was. Picking up the switchblade again, he scraped it slowly down Sherlock's spine as he slid one slicked finger inside the detective as he inhaled sharply at the bite of the blade on his skin. The way he could feel the metal cutting across his skin was oddly arousing, and the way his nemesis ran his finger over the tender wound made Sherlock just want it more. He looked down at the sheets and saw how his blood smeared artistically over them then almost yelped when he felt Jim stroke his fingers over his prostate,

_He must have added another while I was distracted_ , Sherlock thought. He fisted the sheets beneath him when he felt the blunt head of Moriarty's cock against him. Slowly, the other man slipped in, leaning down to run his tongue over Sherlock's neck and run his fingers lightly over the bloodied slices on his chest. Sherlock tried not to cry out when Jim was all the way in, his elbows quivered underneath his weight so he lowered his head into the pillows, quietening his moans when Moriarty began thrusting violently hard.

Moriarty pinched and gripped his hips hard enough to cause severe bruising, his thrusting becoming so vicious it began to  _hurt_ , but in such a good way that Sherlock had to bite the pillow to silence himself.

"You're tight today." Moriarty commented, a smirk playing on his lips. His hand grazed against the soft skin of Sherlock's back and his nails reddened the flesh as he toyed with the fresh cut, he leaned down and licked at the sore cut, lapping up the blood that was leaking from the wound.

Sherlock panted as Jim lifted his head up by his thick curls, "I want to hear you." He purred into Sherlock's ear, his thrusts quickening.

"J-John will-"

"I don't care, you are my pet; you are  _mine._ " Moriarty bit deeply into an unharmed section of Sherlock's neck and heard him moan loudly through gritted teeth. "You moan like a whore and I love it."

Moriarty leaned back and smacked Sherlock's arse again, enjoying the loud sound skin on skin made in the quiet room. The detective cried out at the contact and whimpered when Jim did it again and again and again until his flesh was red raw and already bruising.

The criminal knew he was reaching climax and could feel Sherlock beginning to tense also, but Jim knew he could be the first to come, he could feel it and he gripped Sherlock's shoulders, sinking his nails into the flesh there and thrust one last time before he spilled himself inside of Sherlock. Quickly, he reached around Sherlock with one hand and fisted the detective's cock roughly, hearing him moan loudly as he came over the blood smeared bed sheets.

Moriarty knew John heard them, Sherlock was loud and that was what turned Moriarty on the most. He pulled out and licked the wound on Sherlock's back again, savouring the taste of blood in his mouth,  _Sherlock's_ blood.

Sherlock rolled onto his back and panted heavily, blood smeared over his chest. Jim grinned and kissed Sherlock roughly on the mouth, growling when Sherlock bit at his lips. "Next time, I want you to fuck me."

"Deal." Sherlock whispered. There was a knock at the door and Jim smiled widely.

"Um, Sherlock, is...is everything ok in there?" John asked hesitantly. He obviously felt awkward asking,  _knowing_ that something was going on.

"Just fine, John." Sherlock called back, his voice hoarse from the loud moaning. He laid a hand over his forehead and let out a tired breath.

"All right..." John obviously hesitated before leaving. Sherlock looked down at himself as Jim tucked himself back into his boxers and trousers.

"Pet, half of my clothes are in the kitchen." He chuckled and Sherlock's eyes went wide, he sat up quickly but regretted it as a pain shot up his back. Moriarty had been very rough.

Jim chuckled again and opened the bedroom door before Sherlock could stop him. He heard Jim stumble over a shoe and giggle loudly. Sherlock pulled up his boxers and pyjama trousers, ignoring the icky feeling of Jim's cum inside him. He darted out into the hallway to see Jim buttoning his shirt up and John standing in the living room with a more than shocked expression plastered on his face. His eyes travelled to Sherlock's then his neck, chest then hips and his mouth dropped almost comically.

Moriarty looked between the two and pulled on his blazer and smiled at Sherlock. He whipped out his tie from his blazer pocket and wrapped it around Sherlock's body, pulling him in for a kiss. Sherlock didn't respond and Jim frowned but then smiled, groping his arse, "I'll be back for round two, gorgeous." He winked and walked past John, letting the front door slam behind him.

There was a silence in the room as John tried to find the right words, he stared at Sherlock's chest again and then back at his neck. "What. What the hell was that."

Sherlock didn't say anything and turned around, heading straight for the bathroom. John was going to rip his head off and scream at him but right now, he needed to clean himself; the cuts were beginning to sting.

Before he entered the bathroom, he saw Moriarty's switchblade on his bed and felt a smile twitch at his lips before shutting the bathroom door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, have a complimentary picture of my face when i'm writing porn: [ http://prntscr.com/1imywz ]


	3. Ridin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of non-con in this chapter, nothing big, but I thought I'd just put a warning to be safe.

He could hear John shouting but he had zoned out, couldn't be bothered to listen. It had started off with talking, and then Sherlock had explained how the intercourse began.

"Wait, it happened in here?" John asked from the kitchen doorway. Sherlock looked up at him and then at the sofa. John's eyes followed his vision until he was also looking at the sofa and he grimaced, "Oh m- Seriously!?"

"Your observation skills are terrible, John. Really, Moriarty's clothes were scattered over the floor."

John gawped at Sherlock, "I thought they were yours! You seem to have a habit of just – dumping things in random places." He looked back at the sofa and grimaced again. Sherlock rolled his eyes,

"I had intercourse with another man; I don't understand why you're being so childish about it."

John stared at him incredulously, "A  _man_? He's not  _just_ a man though, is he Sherlock? He's a flippin' criminal mastermind who wants to kill you!"

"Evidently not." Sherlock commented snidely.

John sighed in frustration and began to rant.

So this is where they were, Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table like a teenager who had been caught smoking and their mother was telling them just how dangerous it was.

"Are you-? You're not even listening to a single word I'm saying, are you? Of course not, why would you listen to me? I'm just your-"

"Yes John, you're my friend, and by definition, you should support my acts and views, not torment me with idiotic rants."

"You are seriously lucky I don't tear your throat out." John said lowly, then his eyes casted over Sherlock's neck and he turned away, "looks like Moriarty is halfway done with that." He muttered.

"John-"

"No, shut up." John pointed at him, "I don't even want to look at you, this is dangerous and I am actually surprised you are this stupid."

Something struck Sherlock hard in the chest, "I know what I'm doing."

"You do? Oh that's good; suddenly I see it your way – the 'right' way." The doctor said sarcastically and sighed again.

"It is nothing but sex, John - mindless, emotionless sex."

"No, a one-off is mindless, emotionless sex. This," John gestured to Sherlock's bruised and cut body, "this is more than mindless, emotionless sex."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore." Sherlock stood from the chair and went to approach his violin before John stopped him, grabbing his forearm,

"Please Sherlock," He said quietly, his eyes downcast. Sherlock looked at him closely, seeing the hurt on his face made him feel like a complete fool. When Sherlock didn't reply, John let go of his arm and turned away full, so he wasn't facing the detective. Sherlock decided it would be best to just leave the doctor to his own devices; he didn't want to upset him anymore than he already had.

*~*~*~*~*~*

John had left the flat shortly after Sherlock began playing the violin. He thought that maybe the piece he was playing was a bit too dark for John's liking, either way, he was happy to be alone with just the comfort of his music-

-Alone until he heard a soft chuckle behind him.

His hand froze; the bow still struck the string and created a foul, unpleasant sound, a  _screech_  as Sherlock's mind screamed at him to not turn around, to just ignore the man standing behind him.

"Here we are again," Moriarty said cheerfully – Sherlock could  _hear_ a smile forming on his face.

"It's over." Sherlock said suddenly, still holding the violin in its place.

"No it isn't." Moriarty chuckled. Sherlock was a little bit surprised that he didn't have to explain  _what_ was over, then again, Moriarty wasn't anybody else - he almost wasn't  _human._

"It stops now, I can't lose John."

"Oh," Moriarty's voice was low –  _insulted_.

Sherlock finally put his violin down, knowing his nemesis wasn't leaving anytime soon, and faced the other  _man_. "So it ends."

Moriarty's hands were in his trouser pockets as he slowly walked forward, towards Sherlock. "I'm disappointed in you, Sherly." He looked up and his eyes were dark - viciously dark.

"Dare I ask why?"

Moriarty suddenly grasped Sherlock's chin almost painfully, looking him dead in the eye, "Are you forgetting who you belong to?"

Sherlock was contemplating a reply when nails dug into his skin and he hissed in pain, gasping when Moriarty forced him onto his knees. He felt the slightest stab of fear knowing Jim could easily take control, he always got his way.

Moriarty looked down at him with a sinister expression and eased the grip on his chin, "take off your shirt."

Sherlock hesitated before slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt and slipping it off his skin, feeling Moriarty's gaze boring into him.

"Look at all that skin," Jim commented, hissing with arousal, "I'd love to just wear it." He then leaned down so he was face to face with Sherlock, " _this_  isn't over until I say it's over."

Sherlock felt Moriarty's lips against his, slow and delicate soon turning to deep and harsh when Sherlock returned the kiss. Groans of arousal were heard throughout the flat as Sherlock was pushed backwards until his back hit the floor and Moriarty's body was on his, already grinding against him desperately.

"No foreplay today I'm guessing," Moriarty smirked against Sherlock's lips,

"Shut up." The detective breathed, Moriarty just smirked again and sat up fully with his hands on Sherlock's chest.

"Mmm, God you feel huge." He teased and grinded his arse against Sherlock's erection, "remember the deal we made, pet? You were fucking me today."

Sherlock growled and looped his fingers into Jim's belt loops, "you're going to ride me?"

"Ooh, you've found your dirty mouth." Moriarty began to unbutton his trousers and moved onto Sherlock's once he was done. Slowly, he leaned forward and began to suck on two of his fingers whilst pushing his trousers down over his arse. Sherlock let out a desperate moan at the other man slicking the digits and dug his nails into the skin on Moriarty's back,  _needing_  him.

Jim's hand smoothed its way down to the front of Sherlock's trousers and impressively unbuttoned them with three fingers as the slicked fingers on his other hand moved to his rear. Sherlock's mouth replaced the fingers and he swallowed the other man's moans as he penetrated himself, obviously putting on a show to tease the detective.

Fingers snaked their way around Sherlock's cock and his breath hitched, feeling the warmth of a hand begin to play with his member, he shivered when Moriarty grinded his bare arse against Sherlock's erection as the detective spread the other man and pinched his skin in arousal.

"I'm enjoying this," Moriarty panted and began to lower himself onto Sherlock's dick, "fuck."

It was unusual for Jim to swear, he was a very controlled man and- Oh  _God almighty_ \- Sherlock moaned as a tight heat suddenly surrounded his cock, he tried to keep his breathing under control but failed not-so-miserably when Moriarty began moving up and down, sometimes moving in such ways which felt so  _impossibly amazing_ that Sherlock couldn't stop himself from thrusting up into that gorgeously hot tightness.

"I underestimated you," Moriarty laughed breathlessly and gripped at Sherlock's shoulders.

"There has been a time when you haven't?" Sherlock panted and threw his head back when Jim slammed down onto him; his hands drew blood along the various scratches embedded into Moriarty's back.

Moriarty began to speed up and Sherlock knew he wasn't going to last long, an orgasm was gripping him, he could feel it slowly building.

"Oh God!" Moriarty whined loudly as he began to pump himself.

Sherlock tensed and gave one final thrust up into Moriarty as he came, cursing loudly. Jim panted against Sherlock's lips as worked at his cock a few more times before semen spilled out over Sherlock's chest, some hitting Sherlock's chin. Moriarty voluntarily lapped up the semen with his tongue and thrust his lips against Sherlock's, he could taste Jim on his lips and it made some part of him kiss hungrily back, swallowing the taste with pleasure.

The two sat in the silent flat, foreheads together and nothing but their heavy breathing and pants could be heard, echoing against the walls.

"Do you want to end it now?" Moriarty said finally, climbing off of Sherlock.

_Christ,_  Sherlock thought suddenly, he felt regret and guilt creeping back up on him as he readjusted his trousers. He couldn't end this; Moriarty certainly wouldn't let him, no chance.

"What if I say yes?" He asked shifting to lean on his elbows and stare up at the criminal.

"Then I leave and never come back." Moriarty shrugged but visibly flinched in – obvious – pain. Sherlock felt a smirk working on his lips, now the arsehole will understand how painful it is to be covered in scratches.

Moriarty was staring down at him; he needed to make a decision. If he didn't end this, whatever  _this_ was, he was sure to lose John, his best friend. John meant so much to him, more that Moriarty ever could. This was just sex, nothing more.

It was all a game and Sherlock had lost, it made him clench his jaw and think twice about his answer, but sense made it to him first, "I want to end it."

"Fine," Jim buttoned his trousers and offered a hand to Sherlock, who took it gratefully. He was pulled against Moriarty's body, "I'm going to miss this little thing of ours."

Sherlock felt him linger longer than he should have before turning away, adjusting his blazer and hair, and then leaving through the door. The detective stood, perhaps a little bit baffled. Moriarty had difficult tendencies, some of which Sherlock didn't know how to follow.

He felt something harsh strike through his chest; he had actually stopped the sex between Moriarty and him – his nemesis, the man who supposedly wanted to kill him. The situation seemed more psychotic when looking at it from another perspective – John's perspective.

Taking a few minutes to breathe, Sherlock looked down at himself, the semen on his chest was starting to go cold and it felt disgusting.

_Clean up, get dressed and wait for John to come back._ That was the plan – what an excellent plan.


	4. This Is About More Than Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited the tags because I've finished this now and it turned out differently to how I wanted it to, but then again I never planned the ending so wooooooooo it literally just happened.

It took half an hour of scrubbing to get the scent of Moriarty off his skin; even afterwards he watched the water get sucked down the drain. He wasn't going to lie to himself, he felt dirty, and he had lied to John – his best friend.

John had arrived home about ten minutes ago, sighing at the mess in the living room, grumbling about the body parts in the fridge and cursing under his breath when he realised Sherlock had used all of the hot water when trying to wash the stack of plates by the sink.

Sherlock left the bathroom and rushed straight into his bedroom to avoid the gaze from John, especially since his body hadn't healed from the previous...sessions between him and Moriarty, even if he couldn't hide the various purple marks on his throat, he could cover the gashes and scratches on his chest, back and thighs.

He looked at himself in the mirror as he pulled on a dress shirt. Was this  _really_ what he wanted? No sexual contact between Moriarty and him ever again? It didn't sound too appealing, but he couldn't lie to John.

Sherlock didn't have the same connection with Moriarty as he did with John; of course there was no romance in both relationships but with Moriarty, it was just sex, no emotion or any sort of attachment, just sex. With John, well, John was his best friend and he trusted John with his life.

He finished buttoning his shirt and refused to look at himself any longer, turning away from the mirror and heading out of the bedroom. Then he paused in the doorway, his eyes gliding over to the nightstand beside his bed. Moriarty's switchblade was still there; obviously Sherlock had to move it from his bed in order to sleep without getting stabbed.

It was simple deduction – switchblade, nightstand – but what did it really mean, why did it always catch his eye? Sherlock shook his head, deciding not to torment himself. What's done is done, Moriarty was gone and Sherlock could think without having guilt stare at him from the other side of the room.

"Would it kill you to clean up?" John began as soon as Sherlock walked into the living room, "I mean, would it  _actually_ kill you?"

Obviously their previous argument had been forgotten.

"No, not unless I were to down an entire bottle of bleach or a heavy object were to crush me." Sherlock replied snatching up the laptop from the desk. John stared at him until Sherlock pulled his attention away from the laptop screen and stared right back at John, "what?"

"Nothing, I just," John went back to reading the newspaper, "I didn't expect you to be listening, that's all."

"Strangely enough, John, I do listen sometimes." Sherlock sat down on the sofa, debating his next sentence.  _It's now or never_. "The evidence I'm willing to use is that I broke it off with Moriarty." He said quickly and quietly.

John looked up immediately, staring at him again with that  _extremely_ unnerving look. "What was that?"

"I...stopped contact with Moriarty."

John was silent for so long that Sherlock looked up to make sure he hadn't dropped dead, when he did, John cleared his throat and folded the newspaper, standing from his chair, "right. That's...that's good."

Sherlock frowned, " _'that's good'_?" He quoted, "I thought you would be more..."

"More what?" John asked, his stance looking a bit  _too_ defensive.

"More pleased, seeing as you made such a huge issue about it."

John scoffed and shook his head, "you are unbelievable."

"You wouldn't be the first person to tell me that." Sherlock murmured, typing a reply to an email.

"Moriarty is your  _enemy_ , Sherlock, and you were sleeping with him!" John shouted, "I didn't think I would have had to make such a ' _huge issue_ ' about it if you're really that fucking clever."

"What I do with my body is my own concern." Sherlock felt his temper rising, "I don't understand why you're so adamant to control me."

John looked as if he was about to explode, " _control you!?_ " He shouted, "For God's sake, I am not trying to control you!"

"Then why." Sherlock looked straight up at John, locking the eye contact. "Why have you been so persistent in reminding me of my wrong-doings?"

"Because that's what friends do." John said quietly then averted his eyes, "and if you can't see that I'm trying to help you  _because_ I'm your friend, then maybe you should crawl back to Moriarty."

Then something clicked in Sherlock's head.

"John," He moved the laptop from his lap and put it beside him before standing up, "I did this for you – I ended my sexual contact with Moriarty for you, because you were unhappy and you made me realise that what Moriarty and I had was pointless."

John seemed to look a bit bewildered and Sherlock brushed it off as the lighting, "Sherlock, I-"

"This...this is about more than friendship, John." Sherlock didn't – couldn't – look away from John's heavy gaze.

John swallowed thickly, his fists clenching and unclenching. He changed his stance, looking more daring than usual, and suddenly his hands were on either side of Sherlock's face and their lips were pressed together.

Sherlock wasn't as shocked as he thought; he leaned into the kiss instead of pulling back. John's lips felt different from Moriarty's, they were more subtle and-  _No, don't compare them, John is nothing like Moriarty_.

_{But wait a minute, you wanted Moriarty earlier today, you were enjoying everything he gave you_.}

Sherlock dismissed the thought, he enjoyed John's presence and he enjoyed everything about John. It was purely physiological and extremely simple, how he couldn't see it before was beyond him.

When John pulled back, hands slipping down to Sherlock's shoulders, nothing was said between them. "I knew you would figure it out eventually." John smiled briefly.

"You didn't doubt me for a second, did you?" Sherlock smiled back, his mind racing with various thoughts.

What did this mean for them? Where did they stand? How long would this last?

But he deleted them all, focusing on now for once. Then his phone chimed and he rolled his eyes, "I'll get it." John sighed, walking over the kitchen table and picking up Sherlock's phone. "It's Lestrade, he says there's been a kidnapping and he wants us at the Yard as soon as possible."

Sherlock's smiled grew wider, "brilliant!" He grabbed his coat off the back of the door, but instead of rushing down the stairs, he looked over to John momentarily as the other man shrugged on his coat.

"What?" John asked, slowing his movements.

"I would do anything for you." Sherlock said, feeling his pulse fasten. John paused, blinked a few times, breathed out and chuckled,

"Come on you soppy arse." He smiled pushing a satisfied Sherlock out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Cringes- I'm so sorry Sheriarty fans, my Johnlock came out halfway through this story.


	5. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending you've been waiting for!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I NOW HAVE A LAPTOP, WOO! It's a netbook and I can take it to college with me, so at break I can edit my fanfictions! 
> 
> Sorry, I'm just really happy, it's so cute and small.

It was cold so Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself, feeling the eyes of Moriarty on him, roaming over his body with the dark look in his eyes.

"I don't like sharing," Moriarty began, his Irish accent thick with venom, "and for you to choose Johnny over me- I'm disappointed, I'm  _disappointed_!" He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"You said you would leave if I said it was over, you said-"

"It doesn't matter what I said." Moriarty spat, "it doesn't matter what either of us said, Sherly, because the fact is, I don't share my toys."

Sherlock averted his gaze to the other rooftops surrounding them, not wanting to see the evil in those eyes. He regretted this – everything. He regretted the day he kissed Moriarty, he regretted giving in to temptation and he regretted letting it carry on.

This was nothing but a game. Nothing but a game and he was losing.

Now here he was, facing his nemesis on the rooftop of Bart's.

He'd received a text after the kidnapping case – it had lasted a few days until Sherlock finally found the two children in an abandoned sweet factory. One of them was half dead – mercury smothered sweet wrappers, how subtle yet brilliant.

After the case, he had been accused of being behind the kidnappings, Lestrade claimed that there was a witness statement assuring the police that Sherlock was seen with two children the night before the children were discovered missing from their bedrooms.

Then, after a long twenty hours of questioning and denying any sort of contact with the children, Sherlock was released. John was waiting for him outside then proceeded to question him on  _what the hell are they playing at, why would you set up a crime!?_

Sherlock didn't feel like speaking about it, he was tired of talking and was too exhausted to care about acceptable things to do in public, snatching a packet of cigarettes from a woman outside of a corner shop, taking one out of the packet and lighting it up with the lighter she was holding. Her expression was priceless and Sherlock would have laughed if he could have been bothered, but instead he just walked on as John apologised profusely to the woman and followed after Sherlock.

" _What-"_

" _I don't care." Sherlock said suddenly, "I just don't care."_

" _Don't care about what?"_

" _Everything, John," Sherlock shook his head and took a drag from the cigarette, slowly breathing out the smoke afterwards, "I just want to go home."_

_John was silent as they walked for a few minutes before replying, "Okay," he said quietly._

Sherlock just didn't care. He had been accused of making up his own crimes, each had a witness statement and he was sure he knew who it was. Who else would it be? Who else had an excuse and who else was clever enough to cause him this much annoyance?

Moriarty.

So when he saw the main headline on the news,  _'Fake detective to be revealed'_  and a picture of Moriarty next to it, he wasn't very surprised. He had quickly changed the channel over as John came back into the room, two teas in his hands.

Sherlock's phone had chimed later that evening, a text from Moriarty – he didn't have the number on his phone but of course he'd memorised it.

_Bart's rooftop, 16 hours. Come and play._

_P.s. Don't be late._

_-M xxx_

Sherlock had gripped the phone tighter in his fist, feeling anxiety smother him. It was an odd feeling, but he knew what it was and he hadn't felt it for a very long time. He opened a new message, hoping she would reply soon.

When she did, Sherlock grabbed his coat and shot a goodbye over his shoulder to John as he left for the morgue.

Now he was facing Moriarty after leaving a note for John, telling him he would be a Bart's and would be back later. He knew how this would be played out; he knew exactly what was going to happen. Moriarty was a criminal mastermind, but he wasn't as smart as he thought.

"So," Moriarty turned to Sherlock with a slanted grin, "instead of giving you a long speech, I'm just going to say, if I can't have you, my dear, nobody can."

"How are we going to play this out, I die and you live on, alone and craving my existence?" Sherlock watched as Moriarty circled him like a starved lion.

"No," Moriarty grimaced, "God no. You see, I can't live without you, pet. So when I pull the trigger to my own head, you're going to  _have_ to die."

"Oh, will I?" Sherlock felt the hands of realization pull him down from his cockiness when Jim smiled widely at him,

"Yes, or else Johnny-boy is going to die."

Sherlock's breath stopped, his heart leaping into his throat at those words.

' _I would do anything for you.'_ Sherlock remembers his words to John and he looked down, breathing deeply.

Moriarty slipped the gun out from under his coat, staring at Sherlock the entire time as he placed it to his head. "You can stop all of this."

Sherlock felt panic saw through him, he could feel Moriarty's hands over him again, the feeling of Moriarty inside of him just made him want to recoil, made him want to forget. "What we had," he said after a few moments, "it wasn't anything."

He wished he could believe his own words.

The safety clicked off the gun and Moriarty's eyes grew dark. He looked down for a brief moment, Sherlock looked at his hand holding the gun – it was still.

"See you on the other side." Moriarty chuckled quietly.

Sherlock wanted to rush forward and snatch the gun from his hands, it shouldn't end like this; he wished he could say he wouldn't care if Moriarty died but he  _did_.

So as Moriarty's bleeding corpse laid out on the top of Bart's and Sherlock looked down at the traffic below, as he heard John's voice on his phone and as he put on an act, he realised that he wouldn't be seeing John for a long time.

Longer than he would hope, but he would do anything for John.

Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that wasn't ridiculously cheesy or just really stupid, I had the idea in my head and I just thought 'yes. God yes I need to make that the ending.' So I went through with it.
> 
> I thought about linking TRF with this fanfiction because, well, it was based around TRF so...you know.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it! ~


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